


Jephthah

by thephilosophersapprentice



Series: as if these names could take our sins [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (at least not at this point), Alchemy Nerds, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Ed doesn't have a very good relationship with Hohenheim, Gen, Ishbal | Ishval, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Alphonse Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Trisha Elric, Paracelsus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: The Fullmetal Alchemist rarely talks about himself. Roy really knows very little about Edward's parentage--on either side.Or, Roy Mustang doesn't find out that his subordinate is half-Ishvalan in a dramatic moment but in the quiet, when Edward is almost half-asleep.





	Jephthah

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little bit more messy than the previous installment--apologies. Hopefully it still follows a straight(ish) line.

Mustang knocked again at the door of the military-provided apartment. It was starting to seem more likely that the Elrics were simply not home; Alphonse never would have left a guest to wait and Edward, for all his faults, was not in the habit of avoiding even potentially unpleasant situations.

Just as he was about to knock again, the door opened. Standing on the other side looking like he had just woken up was Edward. His hair was down, falling in thick snarls across his shoulders; his eyes were unfocused, and his posture was completely unlike Roy had ever seen it. Edward was wearing a long-sleeved olive crew-neck sweater a size too large for him; the edge of the automail plate on his shoulder was visible at the neckline—over rolled-up uniform pants and thick socks. He blinked confusedly at Mustang, as if he hadn’t quite decided that his superior officer wasn’t just a sleep-induced hallucination.

“Edward,” Mustang said slowly. “I understand you’re familiar with Paracelsus’ work.”

“Paracelsus is just a pen name,” Edward said, distinct but distant. “The author’s real name is Van Hohenheim.”

And… well, that completely derailed how Roy had expected this conversation to go. “How do you know?”

“Learned his handwriting. I must’ve seen his signature a million times.”

Roy decided to pursue that line of questioning later. “I’ve located a new text—one that’s never been reprinted. I was hoping for your assistance in deciphering it.”

“Did your teacher have a grudge against him too?” Edward asked with sleepy curiosity, stifling a yawn.

“No… I’ve read his ‘Principles of Alchemy’ but never his advanced work. I specialized in flame alchemy—”

“On which Berthold Hawkeye was the only authority,” Edward said, still in his bizarre mood but more alert now. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before—that’s how you met the lieutenant.”

“I had no idea you were familiar—”

“With his work? No. But I did look up who originated flame alchemy.”

So the kid _did_ have some ability to gather intel on his own. “I guess you know all about me, then,” Roy said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Edward waved his automail hand. “Some things are really just not my business,” he said. “Coffee?”

Roy followed him inside, bemused at this heretofore-unknown side of his subordinate.

An hour later, Edward dropped the priceless volume onto the kitchen table with an audible _thunk_ , rattling his own cold coffee mug. “I don’t know how his turn of phrase didn’t drive me insane when I first started reading these,” he grumbled, running his flesh hand through his hair and making the snarls worse.

“You say that like you knew him well,” Mustang observed.

“It’s kind of sad, actually. I know his writings better than I ever knew the man.”

Roy set his mug on the table, his entire thought process derailed. “What?”

“Still… where did you find this? It really _is_ a lost work—this’s an original. There wasn’t even a copy of anything remotely like this in his study!”

Either Edward was sleep-deprived or he’d forgotten that it wasn’t Alphonse with him, because he _never_ mentioned anything to do with his past. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. And Roy—he’d grown up in Chris Mustang’s information empire. He desperately wanted to probe this little mystery to its bottom, but… Edward was normally such a private person. He wouldn’t forgive any intrusion easily, and contrary to what Edward seemed to think, it really was in Roy’s best interests to stay on his good side.

“His study?” Roy asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“It’s definitely his handwriting, though,” Edward continued thoughtfully. “No way this is a forgery. It’s just too…”

“Edward.” The boy’s blond head came up, gold eyes meeting Roy’s in confusion. “When you say his study… were you and your brother in the habit of breaking into his house?”

Edward snorted. “It was _our_ house, and it wasn’t like he was ever around to use the study.”

“Are you saying Paracelsus was your _father_?”

Edward considered it, then shrugged. “Unless talent is genetic, I don’t know what you’re implying,” he said coolly, in a tone Roy had never heard him use. “We read his work, sure. But he never was around to teach us anything. We got this far on our own merit, not springboarding off someone else’s work.”

“What? But his work has been turning up for hundreds of years—some of his writings are older than this country!”

“So it’s a pen name used by multiple people. Scholars now think that the writings of Paulus actually had different authors.” Edward sighed after this tidbit of cynicism—mysteriously absent all morning and now curiously mild. “The precepts are sound. The logic is sound. The writing style sucks.”

Roy leaned back in the chair with a sigh. “Edward, where’s Alphonse?”

“He’s on the morning shift… I was up all night. S’ kind of sad… we’re alchemists, not doctors. I read one medical text and suddenly I’m the only expert they trust.”

Mustang’s confusion must have showed on his face. Edward tilted his chair back, staring at the ceiling. “At first I thought you must be evil… then I thought you were kind of an idiot. Now… I don’t know what to think.”

“You could try having a little faith in me,” Mustang said. “I know doctors who might be willing to treat someone without charge.”

“Would they go if they knew their lives might be in danger?”

Mustang sat up straight, alarmed. “And what about you and Al? Fullmetal, I know you’ll help anyone who crosses your path in a heartbeat, but you need to be more careful!”

Edward leaned forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor again. He was searching Roy’s face in a way that made Roy feel exposed, his motivations and ambitions all laid bare and shown for what they were. “We aren’t in danger. We’re like them. We might not look like it, but we’re half Ishvalan.”

Half…

Suddenly Roy wondered why he’d never questioned why Edward’s skin was so dark—a cool tan that didn’t quite match up with the bright shade of his hair—why Roy himself had frozen up during their battle demonstration.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out unbidden—hollow, small, woefully inadequate.

Edward eyed him in disgust. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” he said. “Now we won’t be able to all do our jobs like professionals.”

“Why tell me at all?” Roy asked. The obvious—Edward wanted something from him. But that wasn’t Edward’s style. He was no manipulator.

“Alphonse wanted me to. I just didn’t expect it to happen now.” Edward ran his hand through his hair again distractedly. “Stupid sleep schedule…”

Roy caught his hand before Edward could turn his hair into more of a rat’s nest. “It must have been hard, hearing us around the office without regard for your traditions and culture…”

“What traditions and culture?” Edward laughed bitterly. “Mom… we were so small. There’s so much we don’t know about ourselves. And Mom wasn’t killed in the massacre. She died from Aerugonian influenza. The world’s full of tragedies anyway. People just excel at making them worse.” Edward held up his automail arm, sliding the sleeve up to the elbow. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to see me as Edward, not a survivor of genocide. I don’t want you tiptoeing around me and making me jumpy too. You don’t look at me and see just the automail. You looked me in the eyes the day we first met and told me to keep moving. I’m going to keep moving forward. But you’re going to have to keep up.”

Edward picked up the book again, occasionally scribbling notes with his left hand. There was silence for a long while.

“Edward,” Roy began again, “why do you hate your father?”

Edward ran a hand through his hair again. It was beginning to look strikingly lopsided. “I was five when he left. Al was four. When Mom got sick… that’s when I knew he wasn’t coming back. The worst part was Mom still had faith in him. At first I thought he was ashamed of us, of Mom… I told her that, once. She told me I was wrong. I don’t know. Maybe if I’d been older when he left, I would be able to have faith too, but I’ve never been able to believe in things I can’t see.”

He stared down at the table, tugging at the longer section of his hair. “Mom used to tell me you shouldn’t try to bargain with God. It makes sense. The corollary of the first law of equivalent exchange, logically, must be that the alchemist is owed nothing—he or she has no right to presume anything. It’s arrogance to think otherwise. But they don’t teach you that one in school.”

No… they really leave you on your own to learn that one.

“If you’re half-Ishvalan, why practice alchemy?”

“Because we were curious and Mom liked it. The answer’s always simple.”

“Why not try to get revenge?”

Edward stared at him as if he had grown another head. “Because Mom wouldn’t have wanted it. Just because we won’t attempt to bring her back again doesn’t mean that we’ve forgotten her completely.” Edward pointed to a spot on the page. “This seems to have been giving you trouble but all he’s trying to say is that most failed transmutations fail because they’re unfinished. A lot of alchemy students drop out because they never hold out long enough to succeed. So just…” Eyes that were gold instead of ruby met Roy’s. “Follow through.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jephthah was the name of a Judge in the Bible who promised to sacrifice whatever met him at the door of his house if he won a battle. Ultimately, it was his daughter who came out to meet him when he returned. Biblical scholars don't agree on whether the girl was actually sacrificed or just lived her life in conclusion, but the story remains a cautionary tale against making rash vows.


End file.
